Unbreakable
by Daniella Fromage
Summary: The twins wanted five-year-old Ron to take the Unbreakable Vow, but Mr. Weasley caught them in time. "He went mental. Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since." WARNING: Contains corporal punishment, i.e. spanking, of children.


**Author's Note:** I can see even the imperturbable Arthur blowing his stack over the Unbreakable Vow. No harmless mischief, that. This is actually harder than I reckon he'd ever punish his kids, but if Fred's left buttock "has never been the same since," it had to be pretty bad.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Unbreakable**

******o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Arthur yawned as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the warm kitchen at the Burrow. Working nights was exhausting, but the idea of running a raid in the daytime was rather counterintuitive. Dark wizards were crafty, and even with the element of surprise, the Ministry often came away empty-handed. Last night, however, they'd managed to bring back a bottle of poison, the main ingredient being Acromantula venom, that could take on the flavour of any food or drink it was added to. Goyle had seemed more concerned with the loss than his hundred-and-fifty-Galleon fine.

Christmas was only three days away, and the house was beautifully decorated, as always. With all seven of the children at home for the hols, he commended his wife for finding time to hang evergreen garlands, put up a magnificent tree with enchanted lights twinkling from every branch, and fill the house with the smells of baked goods, pungent spices, and pine needles.

Arthur filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. He would have a hot cup with honey, just the way he liked it, before heading upstairs for bed. It was only eight in the morning, and he hoped to be awake again by two or three in the afternoon. The benefit of a night schedule was that he could spend more time with his children on _their_ schedule.

He could hear Bill and Charlie, his two oldest sons, shouting at each other out in the yard as they whipped around on their broomsticks. Crossing to the window, Arthur could see that little Ginny, the youngest Weasley at four years old, was watching from where she sat on the ground, bundled up in Molly's hand-knit woolens. He looked up in the air and smiled; Bill had on the hat that his Grandmum Prewett had made for him, but as usual, it hung down his back, blown off by the wind. That good woman knew childrens' rambunctious natures, and had had the foresight to knit long ties from each earflap that could be knotted together to withstand the rigours of Quidditch.

Stepping away from the window and taking a biscuit from the tin on the counter, Arthur ran through his inventory of missing children. Percy would be stuffed away in his room with a book, of course, and Molly would probably be bathing the twins. He wondered where Ron — his youngest son at five years old — could be. When he wasn't with his brothers, Ron was fairly quiet. He couldn't read well yet, but he could amuse himself for hours with his picture books and hand-me-down toys.

Arthur wandered into the hallway and listened at the base of the stairs. Bathtime for the twins was a noisy — and, for everyone involved, wet — affair, and often Molly could be heard shouting at the boys to behave for just ten seconds, _please!_ The silence was unnerving, and Arthur frowned. Had Molly taken them out, perhaps to her mother's? She'd often leave Ron and Ginny in Bill and Charlie's care; at thirteen and fifteen, his older sons were energetic but very conscientious. It was only the twins that could not be left without adult supervision, preferably jaded Aurors with nothing to lose.

As he passed the den on his way back to the kitchen, however, Arthur heard low voices from behind the closed door. Opening it a crack, he saw George and Ron standing opposite each other, their hands clasped between them. Fred stood to the side, brandishing a stick in one hand and struggling to hold a heavy book in the other. The boys often played at "magic" using a stick for a wand. Arthur smiled as, unseen by the boys, he watched to see what kind of "spell" they'd come up with. Sometimes the children invented the most hysterical permutations of magical incantations, and Arthur had nearly had a stroke to hear Percy, at five, trying to cast _Uglify_ on eleven-year-old Bill.

"Right, then," George said to his younger brother. Ron was wriggling impatiently. "The magic words."

"Now, repeat after me," Fred ordered Ron, clearing his throat. "I, Ronald Weasley . . ."

"I, Wonald Weathley," Ron repeated, his chest thrust out with importance. Arthur was startled to see a thin, glowing tongue of red fire erupt from the stick in Fred's hand and wrap around the hands of George and Ron. Sometimes magical children could produce such special effects to aid in their play, but the results were often desultory and poorly aimed. Fred's accuracy was unnerving.

"Do solemnly swear that I will give my brothers, George and Fred . . ."

"Do tholemly thwear that I wiw give my bwothers, Fawge and Gwed . . ."

"No, _George_ and _Fred_ . . ." George snapped impatiently, rolling his eyes at his younger brother's obtuseness.

"Geowge and Fwed . . ." Another flaming cord, identical to the first, bound the boys' hands even tighter.

"All my Christmas sweets from now on . . ."

"Aw my Kwi — "

"WHAT ARE YOU BOYS _DOING?!_" Arthur shouted in a panicked voice, giving the door a shove that caused it to crash against the wall in his hurry to get in. His sons each jumped about a foot, and the book Fred was holding fell to the floor, where it landed, still open, with a dull _thump_ on the carpeting. Arthur bent to pick it up and felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat when he read the heading on the page: _The Unbreakable Vow._ Looking up, he was in for yet another suprise when he realised the stick Fred was holding wasn't a stick at all; it was his wife's own wand! Arthur immediately snatched it away, and George, Fred, and Ron all backed away several steps.

"EXPLAIN YOURSELVES!" he thundered at the miscreants.

"We're just playing," George offered nervously, glancing at his twin for support. "Just making him promise to share — "

"DO YOU HAVE _ANY_ IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THE UNBREAKABLE VOWS ARE?!" Arthur shouted at the top of his voice. Ron flinched away from him, dropping to the floor and scooting away on his backside toward the nearest of the two sofas in the room. Once there, he took refuge in the space between the hulking piece of furniture and the adjacent lamp table, wedging his tiny frame into the equally tiny space. He began rocking himself back and forth, crying softly. His father _never_ shouted like that, and it frightened him terribly.

Arthur's rage ebbed momentarily. He hadn't meant to scare Ron so badly. The little bloke was only five, after all, and his hellion twin sons had likely fed Ron some line to get him to go along with their harebrained scheme. Holding on to the arm of the sofa, he knelt down so he was on level with Ron's refuge.

"Ronnie," he said softly, reaching for the crying boy, "come on out. I'm not cross with you." Ron didn't look as if he believed his father, but he wiped his sleeve across his face and crept back out of his hiding place. Arthur folded him in a hug, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "Shhh, it's all right," he whispered as little Ron sobbed into his shoulder.

Arthur glared at the twins over Ron's head. "You boys," he began, and Fred and George both gulped, "are in _major_ trouble." He released the sniffling tot and lifted him up onto the sofa; Ron's little trainers dangled in the air, and his face was streaked with tears. "SIT!" he bellowed at Fred, who scrambled to obey, hopping up on the couch next to Ron and nervously tucking his hands under his thighs.

Grabbing George's arm, Arthur dragged him over to the catchall cupboard and opened the door. "Don't move," he warned his trembling son, before releasing him to rummage in the tangle of items on the floor of the storage space. He emerged with a well-worn, leather-soled slipper and slammed the heavy door, causing all three boys to jump.

Arthur was absolutely furious. He never normally raised his voice; that was more his wife's method. It wasn't that he never got cross with his sons, especially Charlie and the twins, who got into absolutely _everything._ He just had a longer fuse than Molly did. Perhaps it had to do with his job; he loved his work at the Ministry, and had even turned down some well-paying promotions to stay in the department where he felt most at home. He looked forward to going in every day (or night, as the case often was). Molly, who had the equivalent of three or four full-time jobs raising their brood, had it the hardest; there was no such escape for her.

Right now, however, Arthur, in a performance that was scaring Ron and the twins witless, was bellowing with rage. "YOU DO _NOT_ FOOL AROUND WITH THAT KIND OF MAGIC!" he yelled. "DO YOU BOYS REALISE WHAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE?"

"We just wanted his sweets, Dad," Fred said softly. "It was just a game."

He rounded on his young son. "THIS IS NO _GAME,_ FRED! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? UNBREAKABLE VOWS ARE _UNBREAKABLE!_ THEY'RE ALSO _IRREVOCABLE!_ IF HE KEPT ONE SWEET, EVEN TEN YEARS FROM NOW, HE WOULD _DIE!_ YOUR BROTHER WOULD BE _DEAD!_"

The redheaded Weasleys were naturally pale, and their father's rage had quickly drained most of the blood from the boys' faces. At the concept that Ron could have bought it over Christmas sweets, however, all three looked whiter than death itself.

"I'm sorry," Fred whimpered, and George nodded his agreement.

"I'm sorry, too, Dad," he said.

"You'll be a lot sorrier by the time I'm through with you," Arthur snapped, propelling George over to the other sofa that faced the one occupied by Ron and Fred. He sat down and pulled George in front of him, where he proceeded to yank down the boy's trousers and pants.

"Dad, please!" George cried, struggling to get away. "I won't do it again!" He was shocked at this turn of events; other than a few warning swats, which rolled off the twins like water off a duck's back, his father had never been the disciplinarian. That was his mother's job. He had never seen his dad so angry.

"You're right about that," Arthur agreed. "By the time I'm through with _both_ of you," he said, glaring across at Fred, "you'll _never_ again mess with magic you don't understand." With that, he flipped George over his lap and picked up the slipper. _Smack! Smack!_ George howled as his bare bottom was set afire with two energetic whacks from the implement. He began to struggle on his father's lap, trying to twist his scorching bum out of reach, to no avail. _Smack! Smack!_ Two in a row were laid down on his left buttock, and the hapless boy started to wail loudly as Arthur switched to the right. _Smack! Smack!_

"Daaaaaaaaad!" George shrieked at the top of his lungs, and Arthur winced at the noise. Molly complained about that often; the twins seemed to think that if they hit the high notes frequently enough while being punished, they could possibly scare away the adult responsible for their discomfort.

"I don't mind you crying, son, but _keep the volume down._ I'm not going to stop any sooner because of it," he warned George, and the shrieking abruptly abated, though the crying resumed as Arthur continued his son's punishment. _Smack! Smack!_ The next two centred on the crease where buttock and thigh met, and George's wails grew louder, though this time it wasn't just a ploy to shorten his punishment.

It was obvious from his son's gasping and crying that he had taken about all he could, but for good measure, Arthur laid down one more on the top of each previously untouched thigh. _Smack! Smack! _George's body jerked upward, and this time Arthur couldn't blame him when another earsplitting shriek erupted. But the punishment was over. Laying down the slipper, he stood George on his feet and pulled up the boy's pants for him. George's hands immediately flew to his punished rear, where he furiously attempted to rub out the sting. Arthur led him over to the sofa where the other boys sat and exchanged George for Fred.

Fred was easier to handle; having witnessed his brother's punishment, he knew what to expect and understood the futility of struggles or vociferous protests. He didn't move as Arthur took down his pants and laid him across his lap, but when the slipper lit an identical fire on his backside to the one on George's, he couldn't keep back his tears. Nor did Arthur, who despite his anger still had compassion for the pain his son was experiencing, expect him to.

_Smack! Smack!_ Fred cried out at the impact and clenched his muscles, but kept as still as he could. "I don't like having to punish you boys," Arthur lectured as he spanked, "but magic is _not a game._" _Smack! Smack! _"I don't expect you to be perfect," _Smack! Smack!_ "but there's a reason you don't get wands until you're eleven. You had absolutely _no_ business" _Smack! Smack! _"touching your mother's wand, or _anyone's_ wand, for that matter." Fred was blubbing shamelessly now, and Arthur paused in his punishment. "I don't mind mistakes; I do mind direct, blatant disobedience." _Smack! Smack! _To drive home that final point, he finished the slippering with the same two whacks on the thighs as he had for George. The twin boys had received the exact same punishment, and their backsides were now a matching shade of red.

As with George, Arthur helped Fred to his feet and pulled up his pants for him. Fred, whose face was a mess, was trying to be stoic and not touch his bottom, but he couldn't help dancing in place as he waited for whatever came next. Standing up, Arthur took Fred's hand and led him across the room, pausing by the other sofa to haul George to his feet. Fred he placed in the corner of the room by the cupboard, and George he left in the opposite corner by the bookcase.

"You may stand there and think about how you're never going to do something so dangerous again," he ordered the sniffling boys. Picking up Ron, who had his thumb in his mouth and tear tracks on his blanched cheeks, he placed the boy on his lap and squeezed him tightly. "Ronnie, I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me truthfully," he said in a kind voice. "Can you do that?"

Ron nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Did you think it was just a game?"

Ron screwed up his face and thought hard. "Wew . . . it thounded weawy wicked."

"Mm-hmm. But you knew you shouldn't be touching Mum and Dad's magic books, right?"

"Wight," the five-year-old said miserably, ducking his head. "It wath eckthiting to twy it anyway."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," Arthur said, gripping the boy's shoulders, not hard, but firmly enough, "you heard me when I said that you do _not_ fiddle with magic that way, didn't you?" His son nodded miserably, wondering if his daddy was going to punish him now, too. "When the book explained that failing to keep your promise would kill you, did you think that was exciting, too?" Ron could only shake his head; he was starting to cry at his father's sternness.

"We didn't exactly tell him that," Fred volunteered reluctantly from his corner.

Arthur looked up and nodded, although Fred was still facing away from him and couldn't see his face. "Thank you, Fred. I appreciate your honesty." He turned back to Ron. "Ron, whether or not your brothers were completely truthful with you, you are still old enough to know better than to follow an unknown spell." He sighed and released the little shoulders, but maintained a light grip on his son's left forearm. "I'm not going to punish you harshly, but I need you to understand and remember what I'm saying."

Arthur gently led the shaking boy over to the sofa, where the slipper was still resting on the arm where he'd left it. He picked up the dreaded implement, and Ron let out a terrified cry and began to struggle, pushing against Arthur's leg as he tried to loosen his father's grip on his arm. Arthur had to put the slipper back down and grab Ron's other arm to stop it from flailing. "Hush, now, Ron," he said, not unkindly.

"I'm _sawry,_" Ron whimpered, and the look he gave his father made the man's heart wrench.

"I know that, Ron," he said. "I'm only going to give you two with the slipper, and you may keep your pants up. Can you be a brave boy and take your punishment?" Ron hadn't considered it like that. He gave up his struggling and thought about it. Finally, he nodded. "Good boy."

Arthur gently tugged the little trousers down to Ron's knees and hugged the boy against him, bending slightly so he could reach. Picking up the slipper, he gave two quick swats to Ron's tiny pants-clad backside. _Smack! Smack! _His son cried out at the impact, but probably more from the noise — and the terror he still felt from watching his brothers punished — than actual pain; Arthur didn't put a whole lot of force behind the slipper. It was mostly done for effect, anyway.

"There. It's over," he said soothingly, tugging Ron's trousers back up and giving the sniffling boy a squeeze. "I want you to spend a few minutes in the corner, but you can come in the kitchen with me for that." His nerves twanged at the thought of leaving Fred, George, and Ron alone together ever again. He addressed the twins in their respective corners. "Do _not_ let me catch you moving out of those corners until I give you leave," he said sternly.

Both boys shook their heads emphatically. "We won't, Dad," they promised in unison.

Ron toddled out to the kitchen with his father, where the enchanted kettle had long since given up on being used and had shut itself off until someone in the household saw fit to renew interest in it. Soon, the water was bubbling again, and Arthur sat down to enjoy his tea as Ron fidgeted in the corner by the warm stove, occasionally rubbing his backside. Arthur could imagine that the twins were doing the same in the den.

Just as he was about to finish his tea, the fireplace blazed green, and Molly stepped out with Percy in tow. "Oh, Arthur, you're home," she greeted him, letting go of Percy's hand to wrap her husband in a hug. "Percy burned his hand on the stove a while ago, so I left Bill and Charlie in charge and took him to Mum's for that salve." She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small earthen crock. "We were all out, of _course,_" she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation, "but now there's plenty. And Percy was such a brave boy, weren't you, love?" she addressed her son, ruffling his hair. Percy's hand was wrapped in gauze, but he didn't appear to be in pain, and he smiled at his mother's praise. "Run along and finish your book, dear," Molly said.

"No, Percy, sit down at the table," Arthur contradicted his wife. Percy stopped short and looked questioningly at his dad. "Just for a few moments. I have something to say to all you children. _Fred! George! Come out here, please!"_ he called, raising his voice just enough to be heard in the den. He turned to his wife, who was giving him a puzzled look. "I'm going to get the others from outside."

It was _cold_ in the yard; Arthur shivered in his shabby robes. Ginny's eyes lit up when she saw her dad, and she ran at him, wrapping her arms around his legs. "Daddy, Biw dropped the Quaffew and I catched it!" she cried proudly.

"That's _terrific,_ sweetie," he said, picking the tiny slip of a girl up and tossing her in the air, making her shriek with mirth. "Let's hope there isn't a Harpies scout watching, or they'll kidnap you for their team!" She giggled. "Run inside to the kitchen, will you? I'll be in directly." Ginny scampered off for the house.

Bill and Charlie had spotted him by this time, and he beckoned to them. Both boys immediately flew to the ground and dismounted their brooms. Their cheeks were red as ripe apples, and Charlie's nose was running; now that his hands were free, he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Hey, Dad, you're home," Bill greeted him as Charlie blew his nose. "Mum's over at Grandmum's, and — "

"She just got back, actually," Arthur informed his eldest son. "I want you boys in the kitchen, please. You can get back to your game soon." He turned on his heel and strode back to the house, and after exchanging puzzled glances, Bill and Charlie followed.

Within a few moments, eight members of the Weasley clan were gathered around the table; Arthur stood looking at his family, hoping he could impress upon everyone just how narrow an escape they'd had today. Four of his children looked as if they had no idea what to expect, and Molly's brow was creased with worry. Ron was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring morosely at his feet, and Fred and George were squirming on the hard wooden seats, identical looks of guilt on their faces. Arthur took a deep breath.

"You'll no doubt notice that two of your brothers are having trouble sitting just now." He began to pace back and forth past the eight pairs of eyes that were trained on his face. "Fred and George earned themselves a slippering from me" — there were several gasps at this revelation, as up until then, only Bill and Charlie had met with that dreaded implement — "after they tried to trick Ron into taking what's called an Unbreakable Vow," he continued. "The Vow is a magical contract used in extremely rare circumstances in order to make a solemn, irrevocable promise.

"The Unbreakable Vow was, hundreds of years ago, used in marriage ceremonies in place of modern wedding vows. Now, this is not a lecture on divorce or such like," Arthur said, "but it's since been recognised that people cannot necessarily uphold that agreement and may, at some point, choose to separate. However, if someone fails to follow through on an Unbreakable Vow, no matter how much time has passed . . ." Arthur paused for effect, "they _die._" He was satisfied to see the looks of terror on his childrens' faces.

"The vows you take when you get married will likely be the most sacred promises you ever make," Arthur resumed his speech. "Yet sometimes divorce does happen. Your brothers" — he glared at Fred and George — "wanted Ron to vow to _give them all his Christmas sweets from now on._"

Bill's and Charlie's eyes were shooting daggers at the twins, and the two boys ducked their heads in shame.

"I want to explain to you what that would mean," Arthur said, stopping his pacing and facing the table. "If Ron so much as ate _one_ sweet himself, whether this Christmas, next Christmas, or forty Christmases from now, _he_ . . . _would_ . . . _die._" Ginny's eyes, which had reached the size of dinner plates, brimmed over with tears, and she began to cry into the mitten she was holding. Charlie, who was sitting next to her, pulled the little girl into his lap, where she buried her face in his jumper and sobbed.

Arthur could hardly stand to see his daughter so upset, but he forced himself to remain stern. "I know it's fun to read about magic, and dangerous spells sometimes seem 'wicked' to you. Playing around with sticks and fake magic words is one thing. _Taking your mother's wand and reading incantations from spellbooks is another._" Molly gasped, and her hand flew to her pocket. Arthur pulled her wand out of his robes and handed it to her. "Yes, Molly, they had your wand."

"Arthur, I can't . . . I don't understand how . . ." She turned on her twin sons. "DID I DROP MY WAND, OR DID YOU _TAKE_ IT?!" she thundered, and everyone, Arthur included, winced at the noise.

"It was on the counter, Mum," Fred whimpered, and George nodded in agreement. "We just — "

"That's enough." Arthur patted his wife's shaking hands; he knew that her shouting meant she was blaming herself for leaving her wand out. "The boys have already been punished, and I'm certain they won't be taking other peoples' wands anymore, either." Fred and George shook their heads in unison. Arthur again addressed the room as a whole.

"If I _ever_ catch _any_ of you 'playing' around with magic like that again, I will personally see to it that you don't sit for a month," he said menacingly, glaring at each of his children in turn. Percy had a rather pompous smile on his face, but it disappeared entirely when his father addressed him directly. "That includes you, Percy," he said pointedly, then turned to Charlie. "And you, Charlie . . . and you, Bill," he finished, locking eyes with his eldest son, who had been looking sadly at his younger brother. He had always gotten on best with Ron, despite the difference in their ages, and was appalled to think that what started out as mere play could have ended in Ron's death. Bill's face flushed a bit at his father's words — at fifteen, it was more than a little embarrassing to think he could still be spanked like a little kid — but he nodded his understanding.

"I love all of you more than anything in the world," Arthur said to his children, horrified to find himself choking back tears. Molly reached out and took his hand, stroking it gently. "Your mother and I both do. Neither of us could ever get over losing one of you children." He took a deep breath to steady his voice. "Now, it's all over and you two," he addressed Fred and George, "took your punishments well and are forgiven. But no one" — and this time he spoke to everyone — "had better forget what almost happened today." The children all chimed in to voice their agreement.

"We won't, Daddy."

"No, Dad."

"We promise."

"Right, then." The exhausted wizard smiled at his brood, glad _that_ crisis was over, at least. Molly, always a feeder, switched gears in a heartbeat and began bustling around, filling milk glasses and laying out biscuits. Leaving his wife with a passel of children that, for the first (and likely the last) time, appeared quiet and well-behaved, Arthur headed upstairs for some much-needed rest.

**The End**


End file.
